


something would always rule me

by MissjuliaMiriam



Series: Vampire Juno [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, M/M, Other, Self-Esteem Issues, Set during Angel of Brahma, UST, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 19:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18037352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: They’re in the Martian tomb for three days before Juno figures out that Nureyev is not a vampire. Realistically, he knows that this makes him an idiot. Whatever. It’s fine. Theproblemis that if Nureyev is not a vampire, Nureyev is a human, and Juno… Juno’s fine for now, but in another three or four days, he’s going to start to get hungry.





	something would always rule me

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, more vampire Juno! There'll be yet more of this 'verse, because I promised the Discord vampire smut and I have yet to deliver. But I really didn't want to put myself through rewriting Final Resting Place, so I decided that this was a good chunk for now.
> 
> This isn't... very proofread? If you catch any errors, drop me a line, I'll fix 'em.
> 
> Title from Arsonist's Lullabye, by Hozier.
> 
> Enjoy!

They’re in the Martian tomb for three days before Juno figures out that Nureyev is not a vampire. Realistically, he knows that this makes him an idiot. Whatever. It’s fine. The _problem_ is that if Nureyev is not a vampire, Nureyev is a human, and Juno… Juno’s fine for now, but in another three or four days, he’s going to start to get hungry.

The other problem is that he has no idea if Nureyev knows that Juno’s a vampire, or even if Nureyev knows that vampires exist. Probably he does—he had to have gotten that cologne of his from somewhere, and for the scent to be so strong, to fool Juno’s nose so effectively, it was probably manufactured purposefully as a scent-blocker. Until now, the heady semi-floral smell had completely disguised the rich, savoury scent of human blood, appetizing and warm as it always is. But the cologne, which he’d thought was Nureyev’s natural scent, or just a minor enhancement of it, is now fading, and Nureyev smells like _food_.

They have _actual_ food, at least. It’s enough to keep them alive… if they both were human. Admittedly, Juno had been a little confused about Nureyev’s insistence on sharing, since neither of them were really going to be getting much out of it. But it makes more sense now. Nureyev is human and thinks Juno is too, and he’d been trying to keep them both alive. But that’s not going to work for much longer—Juno hasn’t fed since just before the start of the train debacle, and that was… fuck, five days ago at this point? He’s starting to lose track of time, and he can feel the animal hunger starting to claw its way up the back of his throat and settle at the base of his skull, just waiting for him to slip in his control.

Miasma doesn’t seem to know Juno’s a vampire, at least, or if she does she doesn’t care and is leaving him to sort himself out. And if she doesn’t, he’s not going to tell her, that’s for damn sure. She still needs him alive for the time being, but… she doesn’t need Nureyev, except as leverage. She probably couldn’t care less if Juno drained him dry, and might even be waiting for Juno to do that exact thing, to see what effect feeding has on his abilities. And Juno… well, he’s not going to be able to take a bite out of one of those assistants unless Miasma lets him, covered up all the time as they are, and Miasma couldn’t fucking _pay_ him to drink her blood. Vampires smell like flowers and herbs and weird shit, pleasant usually but strong and unnatural; humans smell hot and rich and salty and _good_ , like food, like life, like something Juno really wants in his mouth right now—fuck. But Miasma doesn’t smell like either of those things. She smells like rancid dust and decay; she smells like a tomb. So: Nureyev’s what he’s got, and they’re locked in a tiny room with no air circulation, and Juno’s gone a week without feeding plenty of times but ten days? Two weeks?

Juno swallows, his mouth dry, and realizes that he’s going to have to tell Nureyev. Because he’s going to _need_ to feed, and if he doesn’t do it soon, he’s going to lose control eventually and by that point he’ll be so hungry that he’ll probably kill Nureyev. In other circumstances he might be able to restrain himself, and really he’d much rather die than attack anyone, but especially someone he—someone like Nureyev. But in this room, without anything to physically hold him back, and Nureyev hurt and tired and sometimes bleeding… Nureyev looks like prey to his instincts even now, and he’s not starving yet.

So, that… evening? After the day’s bullshit session, anyway, once they’ve been sealed back into the tiny tomb chamber they’re being kept in with their ration of food and water for the day, Juno clears his throat and says, “Nureyev?”

“Hm?” Nureyev looks up from where he’s carefully parcelling out the food, dividing it evenly. “What is it, Juno?”

“There’s… something I should probably tell you.”

Nureyev just makes an inquisitive noise, but he stops what he’s doing and gives Juno his full attention, which is, in fact, worse.

Juno takes a slow breath, then says, “So, uh, you know… vampires?”

Nureyev blinks, then nods. “Yes, I know about vampires. I’m a little surprised you do; they’re not so very common on Mars, from what I understand. But I suppose you _do_ seem to keep interesting company, don’t you?”

Juno laughs unevenly, rubs a hand over his face. A bit of dried blood flakes from under his nose, and fuck, that’s probably why he’s feeling the hunger so strongly—his body’s feeling the loss of resources. “Yeah, you could say that. But, more importantly, uh. I’m a vampire. Actually.”

Nureyev looks taken aback. His hair has long since lost its gel and has gotten a bit greasy, and with it falling into his eyes, wide with surprise… he looks briefly very young. And then his composure restores itself, and he says, “I see. I… can’t say I’d guessed.”

“I actually thought _you_ were a vamp,” Juno says. “But… clearly not. Well. _Now_ it’s clear. Where the hell did you even _get_ that cologne?”

“Ah,” Nureyev says. “From—well, it doesn’t matter. I suppose it does work as advertised, then? It disguises my human scent? I’ve had to run in vampire circles from time to time, and it is quite useful to be able to fool people as to one’s… nature. As I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Yeah, it works,” Juno says.

“Good,” Nureyev says, pleased. He smiles. “So, I assume there is little point in me continuing with this.” He waves a hand at the food.

Juno nods. “You should take it all. It’s not doing me much good.”

“And is Miasma feeding you from one of her assistants, or some such?”

Juno hesitates, and then he shakes his head, eliciting another look of surprise. Then a dawning understanding creeps over Nureyev’s face.

“I see,” Nureyev says quietly. “It’s been several days—I’m given to understand that most vampires prefer to feed every three or four days?”

“Most, yeah,” Juno says. “I don’t _need_ to feed that often, but I haven’t had any blood since before the train, and…” He sighs, puts up his hands helplessly. “I just don’t want to hurt you, Nureyev.”

There’s a long pause. Juno gets it—submitting to a vampire bite is intimate, personal, and sometimes kind of gross or painful if the vamp you’re feeding doesn’t know how to be tidy, or doesn’t care. He mostly feeds from preserved blood, even though it’s disgusting and not as nutritious, because he doesn’t like biting people, even unconscious assholes. He’s resorted to it a few times, or lost control, though the latter is shameful enough that it’s only happened when he’s been a real idiot about keeping himself fed, and he still feels guilty. He understands that Nureyev doesn’t want to feed him, and Juno’s not going to ask—he just wants Nureyev to know that the danger exists.

Finally, Juno can’t stand it any more, looks away, and says, “We might be able to rig up some kind of restraint, for, y’know, just in case. There’re really only a couple of days of danger, and then I’ll be weak enough that you can fend me off or just… put me out of my misery, I guess—”

“No, Juno,” Nureyev says, cutting him off. His voice is closer than expected, Juno looks up to see that Nureyev has shuffled over to sit close to him, their knees almost touching. “No, I was only lost in thought. You can feed from me, of course, we’ll just need to be careful—Miasma is not providing enough food or water for me to replenish myself quickly, so if we’re here more than another week or so, things may become… difficult. But I won’t risk your health, either.”

“Okay,” Juno says, and just lets that sit for a minute between them. He meets Nureyev’s eyes, tries to gauge his emotions. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but he doesn’t think that he could figure out what was going on in Nureyev’s head even if he weren’t half-starved and seriously conflicted. He doesn’t even know what he wants for himself, never mind if Nureyev is actually okay with feeding him or just doing this out of some sense of obligation… or out of fear. Fuck. “You don’t _have_ to,” Juno says again, just to make sure it’s really clear. “I can try to convince Miasma that she needs to let me bite one of the assistants.”

“No, no,” Nureyev says. “There’s no need. I’m okay with it, Juno, I promise.”

“Are you _actually?_ Or are you just afraid I’m going to kill you otherwise? Because trust me: I am also afraid of that. But there’s got to be another way. I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t want,” Juno says, and _means it_. There are certain lines he’s never been willing to cross, and this is definitely one of them.

“It’s really okay,” Nureyev says, and reaches out to touch the side of Juno’s throat, tracing the skin there. Juno’s not sure exactly what he feels, but he’s been told by others—Vicky’s vixens, mostly, when he can afford to go buy a feed from one of them—that they can tell he’s gone too long because his skin has gone thin and dry, like paper. He doesn’t go pale or gaunt or whatever like some stupid stream-star vampire bullshit, but there are signs.

“Not today,” Juno says, before he can think too much about it. He pauses, turns that over, and figures, yeah, that makes sense. “I can go another day or two without… risk. And you should—” he waves a hand at the food and water. “Bolster. Or whatever. As much as you can.”

“Okay,” Nureyev says softly. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Nureyev has never been bitten, Juno realizes suddenly. He’s travelled in vampire circles, but he’s never fed a vampire. Fuck. His instincts, of course, are now screaming that this is _his_ prey and only his, and he should claim it. He tells the stupid blood-hungry animal at the back of his mind to shut up and sit down, and clears his throat again, feeling the dryness very suddenly and acutely. “I’ll… think about it. I guess not. I won’t hurt you.”

“It’s okay if you do,” Nureyev reassures. His hand is still on Juno’s neck, just at the base where it meets his shoulder, and he’s stroking Juno’s skin with his thumb in a way that seems unconscious. “I know that sometimes—”

“I’m not some dumbass baby vamp,” Juno interrupts. “I know how to bite without pain, and I know how not to make a mess. I _will not_ hurt you, Nureyev.”

“Okay,” Nureyev repeats. “Okay, Juno.” He just keeps _touching_ , and it’s really fucking distracting. Juno both desperately wants him closer—wants to press his lips to Nureyev’s skin, to trace his veins with his fingertips and breath in the heat of him, wants to _bite_ —and wishes that he would move away. The latter maybe because of the intensity of the former.

“For now,” Juno says, and his voice is rough, _damn it_ , “maybe you should sleep on the other side of the room tonight. Just in case. You can take my mat and my sheet.”

They’d been provided only with two thin pallets and two thin sheets, not enough separately to keep either of them comfortable or warm. After the first night, where both of them had woken up more exhausted than they’d gone to bed, they’d decided that trying to conserve their energy for Miasma’s bullshit was worth more than dignity and had stacked the pallets and combined sheets and body heat. But Juno’s willing to go without sleep tonight if it means he can be sure Nureyev will be safe.

But Nureyev clearly doesn’t agree. He gets a stubborn look, which after a moment fades to something softer, and he says, “I trust you, Juno. It will be fine.”

So they end up curled up together again, pressed close under the two sheets, with Nureyev’s chest against Juno’s back. It’s harder than any night so far for Juno to stop himself from paying excruciatingly close attention to Nureyev’s heartbeat, because he knows that tomorrow he’ll have that pulse against his lips, driving life against his teeth, into his mouth. He lies awake for a long time, thinking about it, and when he finally gives in to the pull of exhaustion he dreams about it too, the faintly salty taste of skin and sweat giving way to the hot coppery-rich taste of blood, filling him up with warmth; he dreams too of Peter’s hands grasping at his back, his hair, as he feeds, the pleasure of touch and closeness and _heat_ , how good it will feel to be full and maybe also _filled_ , if he’s very lucky. He wakes to find that he’s hard, which he’s honestly surprised hasn’t happened before now, and also that he’s turned in his sleep to burrow into Nureyev’s embrace—and to press his lips against Nureyev’s throat.

Juno jerks away with a curse, and Nureyev wakes with a start, his eyes darting around briefly before settling on Juno, who feels a little like his heart has tried to jump out of his chest. He sits up, shuffles back on his knees, and presses a hand to his chest, trying to breathe more slowly.

“Juno?” Nureyev asks. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Fine,” Juno says. “Sorry, fuck.”

“Did… did you have a bad dream?”

Juno shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep, the henchman of the day hasn’t—”

But he’s interrupted by exactly that. The door opens to reveal two looming thugs in their usual stupid uniforms, and so begins again their daily ritual: ten supervised minutes to eat their crap breakfast, which Juno mutely hands off to Nureyev with a glare at the henchmen that dares them to comment, and then they’re dragged off to separate chambers so that Miasma can prod Juno’s brain while he tries desperately to read Nureyev’s mind in order to stop them from hurting him. It never works for long, and once again Juno ends the day with a splitting headache and fresh blood trickling from his nose. He’s so hungry that his throat is itching, as if the promise of a _real_ meal has reminded his body that it’s allowed to feel this way, and he almost snaps and attacks one of the henchmen on their way back to the room, because his sense of smell is peaking and now he can tell that no matter how silent and creepy and robotic they seem, under all that clothing they’ve got human blood running through them after all.

Nureyev doesn’t have any open wounds today, thank God, or Juno probably would have jumped on him the second the door closed. As it is, it’s close. There’s really only enough time for Nureyev to drink half of one of the water bottles provided and eat most of the food that they’d been given before Juno’s antsy shifting and intent looks catch his attention, and he smiles slowly and says, “Is there something you want, Juno?”

Somehow it’s the perfect thing to say. Juno relaxes, because yes, there is, and his brain is already shifting toward predatory and he’s stronger and faster than Peter, but… he’s not _in charge_. It’s fine that he’s not in control, because Peter is. Peter is looking at him strong and steady and Juno takes a deep breath and nods.

“Come here,” Peter says, softer now, but still even. “Let’s get comfortable, first. What’s easiest for you?”

“It might be best—” Juno’s voice breaks, and he has to take a moment to try to swallow and moisten his throat before he can speak again. His mouth is _so_ dry. “If uh. If you sit against the wall, there. And I sit in your lap.”

“Alright.” Peter gets up and walks over to the wall where Juno had pointed, then sits down again, his legs stretched out in front of him. Then he waits patiently, still watching, as Juno follows him and tentatively kneels over his legs at about his knees. “Closer, Juno.”

Awkward, hesitant, Juno shuffles closer, until his knees are touching the wall. Like this, he’s slightly taller than Peter, and that’s not really going to help, so he lets himself settle back until he’s sitting, straddling Peter’s thighs.

Peter’s shirt already has its first and second buttons undone, loose and wrinkled after their days in the tomb, so Juno can see the pale skin of his throat when he tilts his head back. Juno slides one hand up and unbuttons the third and fourth button, and then tucks his hand under Peter’s collar and smooths the fabric out of the way, baring his collarbone and the gentle curve where neck meets shoulder. His mouth is as arid as the desert above their heads, and he can hear his heart pounding in his ears—or maybe that’s Peter’s heart. He leans forward and presses his lips against Peter’s skin, then draws them back to uncover his teeth. He can feel the pressure in his gums as his canines are pressed forward, lengthening in his mouth, and he carefully presses with his tongue to make sure that they’ve extended enough that he won’t have to chomp down very hard on Peter’s neck to break the skin. As he does, his tongue brushes Peter’s skin, and he shudders at the taste, salt and dust and warmth just beneath.

“I’m ready,” Peter murmurs, “come on, darling.” He places one hand on Juno’s waist and runs the other up his back, coming to rest on the back of his neck, and he presses forward just slightly, just enough to encourage.

Juno groans and gives up on keeping control. A shift, a bit of pressure, and Peter’s sharp gasp as Juno’s fangs sink in, piercing his skin and opening a vein. Hot blood floods Juno’s mouth and he swallows, moans, and shoves himself closer. He’s got just barely enough grasp on himself to keep the feed neat, drawing his fangs out of the wounds again so that Peter’s throat won’t be sliced up by the sharp points, and he opens his mouth wide over the wound, sucking at the welling blood. He’d managed to aim his bite fairly well, and Peter is bleeding freely but not too fast—the coagulant in Juno’s saliva will keep him from bleeding out, but Juno’s able to get mouthfuls of heat that run down his throat and fill him up. He can feel the strength he hadn’t even noticed fade returning to his limbs as he drinks, and as he slakes his thirst he becomes able to focus past it. He can feel Peter’s hand now tight in his hair, not pulling, just holding, and the other a hard grip on his waist. Peter’s breathing is fast and gasping, but Juno doesn’t think it’s from pain—it shouldn’t be. No, more likely the opposite, and when Juno shifts slightly in Peter’s lap he can feel clear evidence that that’s the case. Peter is aroused, and when Juno curls even closer Peter tips his head back further and lets out a long, shaking breath, clearly overcome.

Juno’s feeling a bit overcome himself. Peter’s warmth fills him up, fills his belly, and as his thirst subsides he knows that this should be his cue to draw back. If he can think past the hunger, he’s bought himself a couple of days, and tomorrow Peter will be tied to that fucking chair again—he can’t afford to be weak. But it’s so damn _good_ to have the taste of Peter in his mouth, and it takes another few moments for him to be able to force himself to pull his lips away from Peter’s skin. He laps gently at the puncture wounds, capturing the blood that wells to the surface, but the bleeding slows after a moment, and Juno pulls back to place his palm against Peter’s neck, putting pressure on the wounds. Between that and the coagulant, the bleeding will be completely stopped in just a few moments, but Juno takes the excuse to stay close for just a little longer.

Peter exhales slowly. “Done?” he asks, and his voice is hoarse.

“Yeah,” Juno says, then pulls away his hand. No blood flows from Peter’s neck, fortunately.

“Are you alright?”

Juno laughs, harsh, and removes himself from Peter’s lap with jerky movements. “I should be asking you that.”

Peter’s hand catches Juno’s wrist, and the other comes to rest on his jaw, tipping his face up so that their eyes meet. Peter’s pupils are blown; of course they are. But he doesn’t say anything about the arousal Juno had felt, about how close they had come to a different sort of intimacy. “I’m alright. Are you, Juno?”

Juno nods. Of course he is. And if Peter’s not going to say anything, he won’t either. He’s well aware that the attraction is mutual, but so, apparently, is the agreement that this isn’t the time. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Peter says, and smiles faintly. “I promise I’m well, Juno.”

“Okay,” Juno says. “Okay. Uh, you should… finish the food and water.”

“Right, right,” Peter murmurs, and then shifts as if he’s going to get up. His hand, when he moves it, trembles just a little.

“Stay there,” Juno says, snaps, actually; he immediately hates himself for the harshness of his tone, but at least Peter doesn’t look offended. And he listens. Juno grabs the food and the water from the other side of the room and brings it over—he feels much stronger, steadier. Probably not back to full capacity, but definitely better. No longer riding the razor edge of hunger. And it soothes something in him to watch Peter eat and drink, begin the process of restoring himself. It soothes that same animal protectiveness in the same way when Peter quietly suggests sleep, and they’re able to curl together on their thin bed. Peter’s steady enough to walk across the room, but allows Juno to be the big spoon, and he feels a little cooler in Juno’s arms tonight than he has previous nights; his heart beats faster, compensating for the loss of blood.

Juno doesn’t get much sleep that night, lying awake, feeling that rapid beat against his hand where it rests on Peter’s chest. Every small sign of weakness, illness, is a reminder of Juno’s own part in robbing Peter of his vitality, and it’s all he can do to try to keep Peter warm, hold him secure as he sleeps more heavily than usual. In that darkness, his forehead pressed to the back of Peter’s neck, Juno promises himself: they _will_ get out of here. He’ll find a way to put an end to this, and he won’t ever harm Peter again.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I can be found on Twitter @flippingnazguls, Tumblr @motherfuckingnazgul, and in the comments section <3


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